


Sinking and Survivors

by Stuck_Y_OnYou



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1910s, Alternate Universe - 1910s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Prosthesis, RMS Titanic, Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 21:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15671952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stuck_Y_OnYou/pseuds/Stuck_Y_OnYou
Summary: Stephen Rogers is being taken back to America to fulfil an engagement he wants nothing to do with. James Barnes is fleeing a past he wishes he could forget. On the most famous ship on the seas, two worlds collide and two hearts fall on the apparently unsinkable ship.





	1. Chapter 1

“Master Rogers? We’re almost there, sir.”

Stephen jerked awake from his almost-nap, and sat up. He raised the blind on the window of the car, and looked out at the sudden increase in traffic and people as they got close to Southampton Dock. “You’d think there was something happening today…” A camera flashed in the distance.

“Yes, sir.” The driver had no sense of humour.

They pulled up in a sea of motor-cars and coaches, and Stephen let himself out of the car before going over to his mother’s vehicle and opening her door.

“Thank you, Stephen,” she gave him a small smile, then frowned up at the enormous ship that all-but blocked out the daylight. “My word.”

“Yeah, it’s a size,” Stephen followed her gaze. “A guy could get lost walking from one end to the other, I’ll bet.”

“I don’t doubt,” Mrs Rogers touched at her hat. Her fur scarf was given an admiring glance by a passing maid. The Rogers’ were what those who held judgement called ‘New Money’, but there was more to it than that. Mrs Rogers was from a pioneering family, which had themselves come from money back when they held estates in Ireland. It was her husband who was a self-made man, struck gold out west and won the hand of the young lady with a fine name and no money left save for what was in property and cattle. Their only child, Stephen Grant Rogers, was born a year after their wedding, and after another year, the boy’s father was dead, and the widowed Mrs Rogers took the unusual step of running the remaining estate and monies herself. She had a head for figures and investment, and proved that her upbringing as a girl of finery was infinitely more bendable than most would have believed. But, despite her maiden name, she was still now part of the New Money circle. And a widow who had rolled up her sleeved and worked instead of marrying again, as she ought. Money could buy everything except respect, it seemed.

But even that was about to change.

They were headed back to New York for Stephen’s engagement.

“Chin up, Stephen,” his mother said softly, as they walked up the freshly-painted steps to the ship. “Shoulders back.”

“What shoulders?” Stephen muttered, but did as he was told. He had had polio when he was a boy, and had grown up slight of build, skinny and wiry, but tough. He had been told often enough that he was almost handsome – he had a fine jaw and blue eyes that would be the envy of man or woman. But he was short, and slender, and almost boyish to look at. Still, that hadn’t stopped the matchmakers. Money spoke for more than appearances.

And Annabel had been chosen for the status she brought. She was a societal upgrade. And soon to be Stephen’s wife.

Stephen tried to push that rising worry out of his mind, and concentrate on the ship. It was a fine vessel, to be sure, with marble and polished wood and brass, thick carpets and smooth sheets. The suite he and his mother were taking was made up of several rooms, with a central lounge area and a small glass-covered conservatory to the back. The front door, as it were, exited onto one of the floor that was cut into by the magnificent staircase of the First Class area of the ship.

“I think I shall retire,” Mrs Rogers said, as the maid took her hat and coat. “The sea air doesn’t agree with me.”

“We aren’t even out of the dock, Mother,” Stephen looked around from the window.

“I know, darling, but humour your mother, won’t you?”

Stephen nodded, and agreed to meet her later, to dine. His mother had been taking to her bed more often lately, and Stephen suspected she was more ill than she was letting on. He would take her to a proper doctor when they got to New York.

Everything would be easier, as soon as they got there.

He was sure of it.

 

*

 

James Buchannan Barnes gripped his ticket tight as he went through the inspection queue. His hair was combed through roughly, but he’d learnt enough about this sort of thing not to protest, and just to let the bastards get on with it.

“James Barnes, is that right?”

“Bucky,” he corrected.

“If you say so. Raise your arms for me, lad,” a man demonstrated.

He did so.

“Right out, please.”

“This is as far as this one goes,” he said, tapping his prosthetic arm with the fingers of his right hand. “Sorry.”

“Ah, not to worry, lad. Soldier, were you?”

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate.

The man checked over his arms, and decided he wasn’t carrying anything dangerous. “Straight up, then. You can manage your bag?”

“Yes.” Bucky lifted it, and walked on, ignoring the people around him. One glance could give him away. His ticket wasn’t his, at all. And he certainly didn’t belong on the most magnificent ship in the world.

He was running away, before they could realise he was gone.

He found his cabin easily – a shared room of bunks with three other men, none of whom spoke English, but all were friendly enough. That was ideal. He offered them all cigarettes (he didn’t smoke himself, but they were conversation-starters and easier to carry than chocolate or razors), and made sure not one of them learned his name. He would just be that quiet American, travelling alone. No concern of theirs.

And, once in America, he could disappear for good. It was much easier to hide, there. He could get a new name, a new identity, and start a new life. America was the land of opportunity. And this was the biggest one the man known as The Winter Soldier was ever going to get.


	2. Chapter 2

Stephen managed to walk and learn the whole of the upper deck of First Class before dinner. He felt mildly out of breath as he walked back to his rooms, but not enough to concern him – he often felt out of breath after exercising. His doctors told him it was a product of his illness as a child, and there was nothing to be done for it. Stephen refused to let it get the better of him.

The deck had been cold and refreshing as the ship set sail. Most people retreated below decks to unpack their belongings and take refreshment, but as Stephen leaned over the railings midway down the vessel, he could see down into the Third Class deck area, where people were laughing, waving, playing with toys and cards, even already writing letters as they sat on the benches that were bolted to the deck.

He gave a tiny smile as he watched a girl let go a spinning top on the wood, the needle dancing over the planks, making her and her brothers squeal and dance to and fro out of the way.

A man with neat dark hair and a deep blue jacket on walked past them, giving the children a sideways smile that Stephen recognised – it was the smile of someone who didn’t smile often. He wore such a look himself, when the occasion called for it.

The man went to clear spot at the railings and leaned back against them, one arm bent at the elbow. He seemed to have a glove on his left, and held the arm slightly awkwardly. The man leaned casually, though his eyes were sharp, flicking from face to face as if checking them over. Someone came over, then, and said something. The man patted his pockets, then shook his head politely, and the stranger went away. He’d only checked his pockets with his right hand. Stephen realised the man’s left arm must be false.

“Master Rogers?” Stephen turned at his name.

“Yes?”

A porter gave a nod. “Sir, your valet wishes to know what you require this evening.”

Stephen opened his mouth to say the man should have asked Mrs Rogers, then remembered she was indisposed. “I’ll be down directly.”

“Very good, sir.”

Stephen looked back over the railing.

The man with quick eyes and dark hair had gone.

Stephen shrugged to himself, and went off to instruct his servant about his eveningwear.

 

*

 

Bucky dismissed the boy as unimportant. Little, skinny, and not a threat. Rich, and probably a son-of-a, but nothing to be worried about. He carried out his observation of the deck and the cabins he could walk past without arousing suspicion, and found he was able to almost relax for the first time in weeks.

He was safe.

America was calling.

 

*

 

Stephen watched his mother stir the powder into her drink, and swallow the whole tumbler quickly, as if that made the whole business more tasteful, somehow. The maid took her glass, and passed her the waxy palette of colour she could paint onto her mouth now the danger of melting had passed.

“Mother,” Stephen said as his mother handed the paints back, untouched. “Mother, when we get to New York… I’m told there are some really great doctors –”

“Oh, darling, you know that isn’t on the cards,” Mrs Rogers took her gloves from the maid who offered them. “I’ll be quite alright when we’re back home. It’s the travelling. Not to mention organising someone’s engagement,” she gave him a stern look.

“For which I am grateful,” Stephen lied, “but you’re looking… not your best, Mother. I’m only thinking of you.”

“I know,” she said kindly. “But I shall be fine. I’ve raised you, and run the family business, and arranged our step back into society, where we belong, and I do not intend to sit idle, now.”

“It isn’t idle to convalesce,” Stephen pointed out. “Please think about it, at least.”

“Very well,” Mrs Rogers sighed. “Now – remember what I’ve told you?”

Stephen stared for a moment, then drew himself up as tall as he could manage, squaring his shoulders and keeping his chin up.

“Try to look more cheerful?”

He made himself smile, and immediately thought of the man on the lower deck with the false arm. It was the same smile.

His mother sighed again. “Stephen, do try to make an effort.”

Stephen dropped his shoulders. “Mother, I feel like a damned statue!”

“Language!” She swatted his ear, though not hard. “Stephen, I cannot be seen to be dragging a young man behind me who looks as though he’s been through a mangle.”

“At least that way I might have some height,” he snapped.

“Stop this. You will behave, and you will hold yourself as I have instructed. Your doctors say it is good for you. Everyone knows of your engagement – think of your bride to be. She doesn’t need to hear that her groom is a…”

“A what?” Stephen asked, acidly. “Mother?”

“I am not getting into this discussion.”

“I am not an invalid, Mother,” Stephen said. “I shouldn’t have to overcompensate for failings that are only failings in the eyes of others.”

She stared at him, and then closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself. “Stephen. Please. This is important.”

“And for how long must I keep this up?” he asked. “Being paraded around like a racehorse that’s been polished to compensate for the lack of charge?”

“As long as you need to,” Mrs Rogers said. “Your wedding is in six months. Until then, you will behave in the manner I require. We require. Do you want to die a bachelor? To live alone with a fortune someone else worked for, for want of a bride?”

 _I don’t know what I want_. He said nothing, just looked away.

“Stephen?” His mother touched his cheek. “We mustn’t be late.”

He took a deep breath. “Yes, Mother.” He offered his arm. “Allow me.”


End file.
